So it turns out that I haven’t bought new underwear since Ronald Reagan was president.Mrs. R reminded me of this recently when she said it was time to “throw away those things and get some new ones, or go commando!”
Men my age should never go commando, I think it is Man Law # 461.
For a whitey-tighties guy like me, purchasing new undies is more art than science. Get ‘em too small and you’re a soprano; get ‘em too big and you’re support network is non-existent…
Anyway...
A few days later we headed off to the local suburban mall, my mission was to purchase new underwear. Mrs. R’s mission was to contain her hysterics until we were no longer in public. It would prove to be a challenge for both of us.
As we entered the store, two small children ran in front of us. They were being chased by their mom, whom we’ll call “Bouncing Betty.” It seems that Betty was wearing a tube-top type dress and was well, not as slender as she once was. Betty was frantically bouncing across the store, desperately trying to catch her children. I took this as a bad omen.
We reached the men’s underwear department where I was confronted by a bewildering choice of styles, cuts, colors and sizes. Now the pressure was on. I made my choice and grabbed several packages of new underwear.
Men’s underwear are not packaged discretely. In my case the package said in big bold letters, “Caution – Contains Men’s Underwear for Old Guys.” On top of that, the nearest open checkout stand was across the store, about 6 miles away and right next to the “Misses” Department.
Misses is where all the cute young women shop, and this day was no exception. Mrs. R and I patiently waited in line as several attractive young women walked past me, whispering and pointing and laughing.
Mrs. R and I finally made to the checkout stand where the young lady behind the register asked “Did we find everything okay?”
This was too much for Mrs. R who broke into hysterics, knocked over a couple of racks of dresses and had to leave the store.
I got checked out and we headed for the bookstore, with me carrying a bag full of 15 pairs of whitey-tighties. I am not making this part up – as we entered the bookstore the shoplifting alarm went off. As if I wasn’t self-conscious enough…
So now I had to have my bag searched by some 16 year-old girl who may never have seen old guy undies before. It would have been embarrassing if it weren’t so humiliating.
We made it home, I threw my purchase in the washing machine, ran ‘em through the dryer, and smugly thought that I would be all set to go the next morning.
Well it turns out I had let me ego override my better judgment and got ‘em too big. So I spent a few days without support and being crankier than normal, if that’s possible.
I went back to the store to purchase the correct, i.e. smaller, size. This time the checkout counter in the Men’s Department was open and was staffed by a young man.
As I approached the counter he asked “So how is your Saturday going so far?”
Being as articulate as I am, I cleverly replied “fine.”
After I checked out he told me to “enjoy.”
And I thought to myself “Oh I will, Sparky. I will enjoy these brand-spanking new whitey-tighties for the next 20 years or so. By the time they’re worn out, I’ll probably be wearing diapers…”
At least I got the right size this time…
2. Michael Phelps is a stud. It is possible that I have a man-crush on him. 
3. Dara Torres is amazing. Kinda makes you feel like a loser when you decide not to exercise because you’re forty and there was something good on TV…
6. Jennie Finch can strike me out anytime…